


someone to watch over me

by ephemeral_one



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, First Time, Gen, God POV, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Dies A Lot, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeral_one/pseuds/ephemeral_one
Summary: He would be dubbed Number Four.He was special.He was important.And if I could ever choose between any of my children, I would claim that I loved him more than anything I had ever created.[Or: God's POV on all the times Klaus died.]





	someone to watch over me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [and the terror and the horror (and we wonder why we bother)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18397928) by [Sharpworksamurai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpworksamurai/pseuds/Sharpworksamurai). 



I go by many names.

My creations deemed themselves fit enough to place a label upon me and pointlessly fought over which was right.

But I am not a god.

I am a designer.

I am a creator.

I am a composer.

From my hands, life flows freely; a symphony of my own creation.

Where once was a dark, formless, empty mass, I created a new beginning -

I created the Earth.

I created light.

I created sea and sky.

I created the land and the vegetation it bore.

I created the sun and the moon.

I created the stars.

I created the great creatures of the sea and every living thing with which the water teems.

I created all the wild creatures that move along the ground.

I created mankind.

\- and I saw that it was good.

And so I rested.

And to my creations, my children, I gifted the Earth for them to watch over in my slumber.

 

* * *

 

When I awoke, I came to realize that my creations were not without flaw.

They hold themselves impurely - wielding fits of rage, hatred, jealously, selfish ambition, envy and the like, against one another.

As such, the world I gifted them would be destroyed by their hands.

In spite of this, my love for them would never waver.

So I would fix their wrongs, restore the balance once more.

 

* * *

 

I am a creator.

As such, I created once more.

Forty-three children.

Forty-three extraordinary children.

These children, my children, will restore the Earth once more.

 

* * *

 

On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989, all forty-three children - each with an ability carefully crafted, by my hands. to restore the Earth - were complete and sent out to forty-three women across the world.

In Germany, a young woman, who was singing the hymns along with the rest of her choir, became one of the chosen forty-three. As anyone would be, she was unprepared for the sudden child birth and was in utter agony as a child pushed out of her. Others within the church came to her aid, but could do little to quell the woman's suffering.

I couldn't afford to feel the guilt that brewed within me.

This was part of my plan.

So it had to be done.

In the end, she had passed - her body too weak after such trauma - and the child had lived. Small and fragile, his little lungs heaved in air and his piercing wails echoed around the chapel.

He was taken in by the woman's grieving family, who sold him to Sir Reginald Hargreeves a week later.

He would be dubbed Number Four.

He was special.

He was important.

And if I could ever choose between any of my children, I would claim that I loved him more than anything I had ever created.

 

* * *

 

When my children's abilities had presented, I expected those who bore witness to a accept the miracle that had taken place.

Sir Reginald had accepted, but he'd twisted and tainted my miracle.

The man thought he could cultivate the children's powers and held no qualms on how far his teaching would drive the children.

The man thought he knew what was best for the children.

But he didn't.

I watched as he started training Number Four the moment her turned five - the moment all of the Children's powers came in.

I watched as the training failed over and over again.

I watched as he blamed the boy for it all and locked him away, claiming the punishment would do him some good.

And I felt rage.

I had known each and every power the forty-three children had possessed.

I had carefully outlined what their powers were to be.

I created Number Four. This child of mine was to be the gateway between realms, able to guide those lost back to me or to my damned son, able to traverse between them as he pleased.

I gifted him that power.

Only  _I_  knew what was best for  _my_  children.

This man, his 'father', did not.

It is because of this that, of all of my extraordinary children, the first to come back to me was Number Four.

His powers were clearly a burden to him.

The boy couldn't fully grasp the magnitude of the gift that I'd given him, so when Sir Reginald punished him by surrounding him with the lost for a prolonged period of time, it overwhelmed him.

The lost had tore at him until I had to watch as he flickered before me, bloodied and bruised.

I was heartbroken.

My child was confused and crying - scared, but unknowing of his death.

He needed me.

In a panic, I chose the vessel of a little girl I had grown fond of years before - I know Number Four is sociable and would easily welcome one close to his age.

"Be still now", I shushed, holding onto his too small wrist. "Everything is okay now."

My vessel worked much more efficiently than I expected because it was only a moment later that the five year old threw himself into my arms.

". . . ple-please." He hiccuped, sobs making him choke on his words. "I-I don't want to go back. . . . please don't make me go back."

"Worry not, child. Find only peace here."

I pulled him closer to me, focusing on the depths of his battered soul - finding that which it need most.

And slowly, the expanse around us changed to best suit him.

Dirt paths formed beneath us and trees sprouted and reached up to a cloudless sky. I could distantly hear birds chirping.

The boy calmed instantly and when I was sure I'd cheered him up enough, he was sent back to the realm of the living.

I was sad that he had to go, but this beautiful world that he created brought me enough comfort in his absence.

 

* * *

 

Number Four was growing up.

Even in Sir Reginald's oppressive care, he's forming an identity for himself.

He'd gained an interest in feminine clothing and makeup. As if to challenge the strict coldness that he lived in, his already dazzaling personality became so much more animated.

Now, I often see him - in the privacy of his own room - donning plaid skirts which he's stolen from his sisters.

However, tonight Number Four took his extravagances through sleeping Academy. In a pair of startling red heels with lipstick to match, the boy roamed the hallway with the grace of a baby deer, constantly stumbling over his long, pale legs and small feet which have not filled out the shoes quite yet.

Despite the obvious unsteadiness, Number Four grinned and gave out a quiet laugh.

He was proud of himself and I felt a sense of pride, as well.

As he began to make his way down the stairs, having a white-knuckled grip on the banister, I watched as one of the heels sliped. His ankle turned sideways unexpectedly and the confident boy gracelessly tumbled down.

When he reached the foot of the staircase, his laid motionless, neck broken.

For the second time, I waited patiently as he appeared in front of me, his neck still bent at that painful angle.

"Hello, Number Four", I greeted, pulling a smile onto my child-like face.

"Hey!" He yelled, overjoyed as if he doesn't know he's dead - he never does, no matter how often he comes back to me.

I smile once more at him and sat down on the dirt path. When I patted at the spot next to me, he quickly followed suit.

"How are you?" I ask and the boy laughs in response as if he doesn't believe someone will care about his well being.

He truly doesn't.

So I stay silent, leaving my question up into the air until he realizes I'm not joking.

He startles after a little while when I decide to nudge him.

"Me?" He pointed to himself, mockingly. "I'm okay, I guess."

I hum as I digest the response, staring into green eyes surrounded by smeared mascara and yellow eye shadow.

He's partly lying.

"You look quite nice." I decide to say when I notice he's getting nervous under my silent scrutiny.

The compliment cheers him up tremendously.

"Thank you." He beams.

But his smile falters at the edges, he's not as happy as I originally thought.

"Do you enjoy it?"

Number Four flinched and tries to keep up the plastered on a smile but it falls.

"I like it." He states firmly, but the rest of his words come out as a miserable whisper. "I like how it feels on me and how I look, but it feels like I'm doing something wrong."

Number Four lets out a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping. He looked defeated, much more than any one who is approaching their teen years should look.

"My dad and all my brothers. . . they say it's wrong. And I really should be more like them. They're - they're amazing, but-", He chokes a little, eyes watering. "But me, I like to prance around in makeup and Mom's dresses."

He let out a laugh, depressing and self-depricating.

I can't listen to the boy any longer, so I pull him towards me. He's small and skinny for his age, so it's easy to tuck him into my chest. The white dress my vessel is wearing is getting soaked, but I don't care much for that.

"I think that you can be whoever you want." I state with absolute surety - I may have created my children, but it is always their decision who they become. "Your brothers and your father do not define you."

The boy only cries harder and I can do little but offer him small comforts, like rubbing his back and whispering reassurances to him.

"I'm not normal."

"You're not", I agree, pulling him away from me as I watch him start to fade - it's time to go. "But you're still perfect."

And he's gone.

There is a feminine - probably stolen - perfume lingering in the air in his wake, so I close my eyes and imagine my child is still here with me.

 

* * *

 

Number Five has disappeared.

Well, not exactly.

The boy, too proud and naive, has traveled into the unknown territories of time-travel. He underestimated the journey and found himself trapped within the wasteland that my creation is soon to become.

So he is lost - not to me, but to his family.

His father give little care on his disappearance, but the children mourn. Their close-knit family has broken apart for the first time and after a week of not seeing the boy, they lose all hope that he'd ever come back - most believe that he is dead.

Except for Number Four.

The boy sees spirits regularly and knows that if his brother really was dead, he'd be the first to know. The thought give him hope - hope that his brother is safe, hope that his brother is alive - and he manages to stubbornly hold onto it even as the oppressing weight of the Academy bears down on him.

Tonight, he decides to set into motion a plan he's been cultivating since the second day of Number Five's disappearance.

He's going to leave the Academy.

In the dead of night, with only me watching over him, Number Four heaves his metal window frame up and scurries down the side on the house. The rusty drain pipe he's using creaks with his movement, but other than that his escape is silent and undetected.

Sir Reginald's lessons in stealth really pay off as, in a matter of moments, he is already a good couple of blocks away from the only home he's ever known - he has a home with me, but it's never permanent so it doesn't count quite as much.

He's shouting for his lost brother, his shrill tone carrying through empty alleyways and deserted streets.

I realize the mistakes he makes long before he does.

A man, tall and gruff, pauses in his walking. He's been shuffling a few feet away from Number Four for a while now, but it seems like only now that he notices the boy's presence.

The look in his eye when he finally turns on the boy is one that I recognize immediately.

Number Four does not.

The boy is too trusting, naive. He mistakes the maliciousness in the man's sharp gaze for kindness and follows him, believing the man when he says he's seen his brother.

I want to scream and I want to pull the boy away as the man places a firm hand on his shoulder.

But it is not my place.

I can only interact with my creations after all is done.

Despite my love for him, Number Four is no different.

So when the man finally coerces the boy into a dingy alleyway, I stay and watch - that is my punishment, to watch as my creations tear each other into nothingness.

I don't want to see as the man forces himself upon the unsuspecting boy, but I do.

I don't want to see the man bare his naked body and mark the untainted skin, but I do.

I don't want to see as the man push in, see him make the boy bleed, but I do.

I don't want to see the boy's pain, but I do.

Number Four's calling out now. 

Screaming for someone to help, crying for me to help.

It isn't long before his soul comes to me.

Number Four isn't like other souls.

He comes in the exact state in which he died.

When I meet him on the dirt path, his clothes are in pieces and bite marks peek through any openings and there is bruises at his neck and a slow trickle of blood dripping past his shorts.

It is then that I look away.

To see a child, my child, be in so much pain is the worse punishment I can ever have - but it is a punishment I deserve.

I know better than to approach him as I am, so I discard of the little girl facade. Without the block, his soul, though skittish and in agony, actively seeks mine and I don't hesitate to intertwine with him. Together, as one, I feel his anguish and his pain and his grief. In return I try to bring him comfort and peace and tranquility.

But he's fading now, which means he's returning to the Earth once more.

With the urgent need to do more for my child, I grant him the gift to forget.

The boy needn't know what occurred tonight, only I did as I watched and waited for him once more.

 

* * *

 

The Academy has been rocky since Number Five's disappearance and it collapses completely with the death of Benjamin, or Number Six.

Ben, much like his brother, was a gateway - though he was one that should scarcely be opened. Should he wish it, the boy could open the gates to purgatory and release those who thrived in the dark, formless mass that once was, those who came before my beautiful creations.

It is they who ended up tearing Ben apart.

It was all my fault entirely. I should have known better than to trust a child to keep that-which-cannot-be-controlled under control.

I wished to hold him and apologize, but he chose to stay by Klaus - what a beautiful name my child chose - side.

Ben wanted to stay with his family, no matter how little he knew of them - the Academy made sure that the children didn't become too close to one another - and did a fine job in not becoming like the lost.

But this decision caused my child to overdose.

Klaus couldn't bear to see his brother, the only one out of four who he genuinely believed he got along well with, dead. He went through a period of silence, where he ignored Ben until he realized that his brother was staying permanently. Then he screamed at the boy for dying and screamed at himself for letting the boy die.

It all ended in tears and a hasty rush out of the Academy, Klaus racing into the darkest corner of the shadiest alleyway with a wad of cash and a death wish.

He came to me convulsing and covered in his own vomit.

I watched as he collapsed onto the dirt, stomach spasming in a dry heave as he let out wretched sobs.

"Why?" I asked and got no answer.

When he left, I could only hope that he wouldn't come back in such a way.

I hated to see my child destroy himself like that.

I hoped to bring him peace.

 

* * *

 

As the years went by, I watched as Klaus grew addicted to drugs.

First to block out his brother, then to block out his powers.

He died several more times over the years and unlike when he was a child, he started to remember sparsely about his visits to my realm. I kept the same vessel and told him each visit my displeasure for his self-destruction, in hopes he would remember the advice I had given to him.

He never did.

 

* * *

 

The last time he had died, it was not by his own hand.

Klaus chose to protect his brother - Luther, the one I gifted with exceptional strength - and I was so proud.

He appeared in front of me the same as any other time, laying on the dirt with blood dripping from beneath his hairline and down his neck.

When I rode up to him in greeting, it seemed that he was more aware. For once, he knew he was dead and he knew who I was, but this only made him act cynical towards me.

I'll admit: it hurt quite a lot, but it was not undeserved.

No matter, it made me have a bad mood and I consciously chose not treated Klaus as I usually did.

I had left him with a false hope for his dead lover - a wonderful man he met in Vietnam who accepted him like I always have - and then I presented him with his father.

They needed to talk, I tried to reason with myself.

Klaus needed to learn more about his powers, I tried once more.

But it all sounded like excuses and I came to the realization that the one thing that I'd only ever loved was also the one thing that I'd just hurt.

I sighed, setting the bicycle I'd rode in on down and leaning against a tree. A wind picked up, blowing my vessel's hair around and disturbing the leaves above.

The landscape truly was breathtaking, serene and calm enough that I allowed myself to close my eyes and rest once more.

All would be better soon.


End file.
